Excerpts from the Great War
by Prince of Austria
Summary: An anthology of short stories from different moments from RWBY's "Great War." This would be a collection of the stories and experiences of both forgotten and famed men in the history of Remnant. These events will not be viewed with rose-tinted glasses the Great War was a great tragedy on Remnant, and these should serve as a reminder of the horrors of war.
1. Liberation

The Valean Expeditionary Force or the VEF sent to help in recapturing Vacuoan lands had finally reached a command structure. It was a camp that had five meter high walls and was dotted with barbed wire. Barracks as far as the eye could see, and a large billowing smokestack smack dab at the middle of the camp.

As the VEF came closer the sentries didn't even put up a fight, too exhausted from fighting Grimm, and too exhausted from fighting this war. The closer the VEF got to the camp the more pungent the smell became. Finally, they got to the gates, they opened it up and as soon as they got sight of what's inside some of the soldiers vomited.

oo00oo

The actual camp appeared like an untidy slaughterhouse. A pungent smell hung heavily in the air. The further the VEF walked into the site, the stronger the smell of burnt flesh became, and dirty-black ash rained down from the heavens, darkening the snow. Innumerable exhausted, wretched figures with shrunken faces and bald heads were standing outside of the barracks. They didn't know that the VEF were coming. The surprise made many of them faint. A picture that would make everyone wither away who saw it. The misery was horrifying. The ovens, the crematoria attached to the smokestack that the VEF first saw, were still hot and some were still blazing fiercely when they approached. The soldiers were standing in a circle, everyone was silent. From the barracks more and more hungry children were emerging, reduced to skeletons and enveloped in rags. Like ants they assembled in large groups, making noise as if they were in a large school yard. With arms extended, they were waiting, begging and screaming for bread. They were whining out of despair and wiping away their tears. Only death reigned here. And it reeks of it.

oo00oo

Knowing the Valean Army was closing in, the Atlesians gave the boilermen the order to throw the prisoners who were already emaciated to the point of looking like skeleton into the crematorium alive. They wanted to get rid of the sick and weakened to cover up their tracks as fast as possible.

The boilermen looked surprised to see us officers and soldiers. They were strong people, mostly Vacuans forced to hard labour. They greeted us with shy smiles on their faces, a mix of happiness and fear. Like on command, they threw away their poker. With us, they talked freely. Angry words about Atlas were spoken. I still remember an old boilermen stammer "Thank you". "Thank you, friend. May I call you [the Valeans] friends?".

One of them, a Faunus, was asked "Why did you do that?" and was pointed towards the ovens. Without blinking he replied "They didn't ask if I wanted to. No, I didn't want to. But better be the guy working the oven, than be the one burning. That's why I did it." the room was speechless, the soldiers could just only shake their heads. "Why aren't the other ovens burning? There's no smoke coming up the chimney", asked an officer. "Deconstructed", he said.

Caught in their own thoughts, everyone just stood around. Nobody cared about the burning ovens. "Stop this. Out! All of you!", the commanding officer shouted. Outside, he was shaking and said with a stuttering voice: "How can this be in the midst of the modern century! I can't comprehend this. If there'd be a god, maybe he could explain how this all came to be."

They visited the barracks and couldn't believe their own eyes. Naked and groaning people, hardly looking like humans, were laying on straw bags. I touched one of the people laying there. He didn't move. He wasn't alive anymore.

In another barrack, a woman was dying. They asked if someone from her family was also in the camp. She said yes. Via speakers they tried to find her relatives and reunited the family. Shortly after, the woman died, although our doctors tried to save her.

After that the VEF concentrated on the camp headquarters. In the hallway towards the office of the camp management a paper was found pinned to the wall which concerned all of them, since they were Valeans. It said something along the lines of "Atlesians! We are the masters. Our interests are the only that matter. The reproduction of the slav people is not desired. Childlessness and abortion are to be encouraged. Education of faunus, Valean, and Vacuoan children is unnecessary. If they can count up to 100, that's sufficient. Those who can't work, shall die."

The translator translated the text for the others who just shook their heads. One teared it down. The offices were empty and chaotic so we went outside.

In the meantime thr soldiers had gathered the female guards and brought them to us. "Should we…?", asked a Corporal. "No, don't do anything stupid", the officer replied. "This is to be decided by the Military Police"

"What does she have in her bag", the commanding officer asked, since it was obvious how filled her bag was. A soldier grabbed into the bag. It was a brochure. The headline was "About the law to defend the hereditary health of the Atlesian people". The CO took it, read some pages. Proof of being pure, marriage prohibition, faunus plague … The MP took note of it and was shocked. People still carried these with them! Even the MP was shocked that these people were carrying evidence against themselves.

"Are you all 'pure' women?", the MP asked.

They give the MP a cold look. "I don't know", one of them replied.

The MP laughed. "Where are the camp doctors?"

"Not here, ran off".

"And the male prisoners, where are they? I haven't seen a single man. What is this all about?".

"A week ago they've been escorted out of the camp. Probably relocated to Al-Azzis or Lüteck", she replied.

The MP tore the brochure into pieces and threw it onto the piles of garbage.

Until evening, many reporters had arrived. Nonstop buzzing and flashing cameras everywhere inside and outside the barracks. They had to learn one step after the other that thiswas a central selection camp. 'Unwanted' people were selected for forced labour or death in the gas chambers. The immediate extermination by unwanted who were unable to work was expressly insisted upon.

The field kitchens arrived soon. Nearly at the same time, the Military Police and surprisingly high ranking officers from the staff of Vale and Vacuo showed up. Medics distributed sheets and clothing to the prisoners. To prevent the prisoners from eating snow, soldiers distributed tea and bread to the nearly starved skeletons. In the meantime, military trucks had arrived. Around midnight, all prisoners were taken out of the camp. Those still able to walk had no patience to wait and had already taken off by foot towards Sosnowitz. The only remaining people were the guards and sentries. Those were immediately ordered to dig up mass graves outside the camp and to bury the dead bodies there. Floodlights and generators had already been put in place.

The camp was now empty and it was as silent as a monastery. Some torches were lighting the ground here and there. The VEF had to leave, since they are a combat unit assigned to the front.


	2. Short Fuse

Chapter 3.

There were two things you could say about the tunnels. It was hot, and it was cramped. At end of the tunnels it was just large enough to allow at the very most three men — Lieutenant Greeves, the officer in charge; the private, James, who has forgone the use of his shovel in favor of scraping the walls slowly and more quietly with the use of a small knife; and Corporal Robin listening for sounds from enemy sappers burrowing their way towards the Valean Lines in a counter tunnel, the stethoscope he's listening on moving gently over the walls and ceiling. He glanced to Greeves from time to time with a shake of his head.

 _Still nothing_

The silence was deafening.

Moments before they had started digging, a runner brought Greeves the news that the Atlesian prisoner had been interrogated and that there was a very real possibility that they were working on their own tunnel, and that it could in fact be parallel their own. If the enemy sappers were farther ahead, if they'd already packed their chargers in their forward chamber, similar to the one that Greeves and his men were still enlarging at their end, then the chances were that the enemy's would go off first, burying the three of them alive.

The Atlesians had already used tunneling to devastating effect. It was a simple concept: dig a tunnel that burrowed deep below the enemy lines that reach a spot beneath the enemy trenches, then pack the final chamber with high explosives, set off the charges, and finally flood the newly opened hole in the enemy defences with lots and lots of bodies whilst the enemy was still reeling. It was a variation of one of the most used ways of breaching castle walls, a tactics used by armies of ages passed. Only instead of blowing up a trench, you blew up massive fortifications to, same thing as now, allow your men to rush inside. Dangerous work then, dangerous work now.

Naturally, the Valean side had no choice but to use the same strategy as the Atlesians, and they were still learning. A team of coal miners from the outskirts of Vaile had been brought in because they were experienced men, capable of digging as well as shoring up the tunnel as if they were creeps.

The problem was that once these boys were close enough the the enemy lines to be heard, picks and shovels had to be replaced by the silent, but tedious scraping using smaller objects. Inch by inch they're moving closer; otherwise the enemy would hear them and take deadly and quick countermeasures.

Greeves had been sent down to relieve the previous officer in charge of the tunnel, standing in for his eight-hour watch with his own corporal Robert Robin, whose hearing was very sharp. And in place of the coal miners was Private James who had been given the task of carrying on as quickly as he could without making a was a slate miner from Mt. Glenn, and it was clear several of the coal miners from the South had resented the choice. He had been what was called a rock man, who drilled and set the explosives to bring down the great slabs of slate, and his touch was delicate.

The knife picked away gently at the surface, filling the pail with surprising speed without a sound. The larger the chamber at the end of the tunnel, the more explosives that could be packed into it.

Two feet still to go before the Royal Engineer overseeing the work would be satisfied.

All at once Robert Robin held up a hand. Greeves touched James' shoulder in the same instant. The private stopped, knife in midair, hardly breathing. Greeves waited.

Robin took out a bit of paper, scribbled something on it, and then handed it to Greeves.

 _Packing,_ it read _stopped digging_.

The Atlesians must be worried that the prisoner had talked, and taking no chances, they were preparing to blow up their own tunnel as soon as possible, which meant they were already under the Valean lines. What Robin had heard was the soft footfalls of men carrying charges forward to stow in the already completed chamber.

Greeves signaled to Robin and James to follow him back along the dark worm that was the Valean tunnel, and they carefully made their way to the main shaft.

Captain Marsh was standing there, a frown on his face. "Why have you stopped?"

"They're packing," Greeves said. "We've got to hurry if we're to set off our charges before they finish and set off theirs."

"Damn," Marsh said. "Are you quite sure? There's no time to send for the Royal Engineers to verify this."

Robin stood his ground, holding up the stethoscope. "I'm sure," he replied.

"I don't trust those things," Marsh snapped, considering the young corporal. "The old pan-and-water system was more reliable. When the water moved, you knew for certain."

"Nevertheless," Greeves said, "the runner warned us that the Atlesians were ahead of us." If Captain Marsh refused to believe Corporal Robin, or sent them back to the unfinished chamber while he consulted the Royal Engineers, then Greeves and his two men would be the first to die as they frantically worked at the walls. If the explosion didn't kill them outright, they would be buried alive and then slowly suffocate.

"Yes, all right." Marsh looked up the shaft, calling softly to the men waiting there.

It was a matter of minutes before the charges were being brought down. Five men followed, carrying them barefooted down the tunnel to the end. james, eyes narrowed, watched them go.

"I'll set the fuse," he offered, a little too casually.

Greeves' eyebrows shot up. He had the strongest feeling that this man didn't trust a coal miner to do the work properly. _Why?_ The coal miners were chosen because they were experienced men. Why did this man not trust them? His time at the front had made him trust his feelings, his instincts. And something about the way Marsh spoke had caught his attention.

Marsh went back down the tunnel, overseeing the placing of the charges. It would be a full load, and by the time the space at the end was packed and the bags of chalk were piled against the charges to make sure the blast was contained and didn't blow back into the Valean lines, the Atlesians might well catch them all like rats in a hole. A risky business, but they all knew that.

Greeves stood to one side, cautioning the men passing the charges to mind what they were about and to be as quiet as possible. Twice he saw Marsh glare at James, but whatever the problem was, it would have to wait. When the last charge had been laid, the bags of chalk were taken down and packed tight, and then it was only a matter of setting off the blast. James collected his gear and prepared to connect the fuse to the blasting caps.

But Marsh didn't send for James.

Instead, it was another private who set the fuse. After lighting the fuse he came racing down the tunnel, grinning broadly as he passed James.

The three of them were confused when suddenly everyone scrambled up the shaft, out of harm's way. Greeves glanced at his watch, realising that they were only a minute or two to being buried alive alerted his two men to run. Before they could even start running the air seemed to be sucked out of the space around them.

The fuse was shorter than normal.

* * *

 _A/N:Third time's the charm. I uploaded the drafts instead of the finished one_


	3. Occupation

Andre was a good man. Faithful to a wife a world away, prayed to God before and after his meals, he never took advantage of anyone, treated everyone he met with respect and he kept his ledgers clean and honest. His only vice was indulging himself in food and drink from time to time – sure he was far removed from the star athlete of his college days – but he had kept it under control for several years.  
What did he do to deserve this?

The Vacuans, thieves that they were, at the very least kept a semblance of order in the city and enforced something that resembles a rule of law. The Atlesians never bothered. For days now the City of Chickamauga was a slaughterhouse. The only ones spared were Atlesians, Mistrali, and other foreigners. Andre hoped that his Nationality alone would be enough to save him.

He hoped it would've been the same for the ones hiding in his cellar.

When his neighbour Mushi Liet-Bin came knocking on his door a few days ago, while family in tow, Andre instantly knew what was going on. He had read the reports, he knew what was going on all over the occupied territories. If the Atlesian Army arrived up, they would purge the area of undesirables. He never saw eye to eye with the man, but damn if he'll leave the man to die out there.  
The next night, Mushi's son sneaked out and came back with two more families; the Abyads and Siyahs. Anwar Abyad offered Andre a handful of gold Lien, but he refused, he wouldn't want payment for doing the right thing. When Anwar insisted, Andre said that it was for everyone's benefit; They might need it if they were to flee, and Andre getting new funds without contact to the mainland would raise questions.

Andre stood by the closed window, occasionally peeking through the curtains whenever he heard the muffled rhythms of hooves or boots passing by. He was being paranoid, a part of his mind seemed to say. What creates suspicion more than seeming like you have something to hide? But wouldn't acting casual in the middle of a warzone seem even more like he's hiding something?

He then realized that he was peeking his head out while lost in thought for a good ten seconds.

The second floor would be good. Just have the curtains open, turn on a lamp, and be visible reading, or writing, or doing something, anything that doesn't scream "I'm harboring enemies of of Atlas, please arrest me."

Andre slowly crept up the stairs, nervously taking each step as if the creaking of the floorboards would betray him. When he finally arrived at his solar, he made a show of throwing open the curtains, lighting an oil lamp, and sitting in his chair. A foreign book might suffice, the brain can't worry when it's busy trying to translate the text.

About half a chapter in, Andre felt his eyes begin to droop, and decided now would be as good a time as any to put down the book. The sun was beginning to set, and the long shadows made the muddy roads look like some alien landscape.

At that moment, a squadron of Atlesian Irregulars trotted through the neighbourhood, glancing at every house. Their sergeant, a giant of a man with a great big bushy beard, dismounted and started barking orders to his subordinates. As his men lined up around his house, rifles at the ready, the giant opened the gate and strode through.

Oh no.

Andre dropped the book and bolted down the stairs as fast as he could. He threw open the cellar doors and hissed "Kill the lamp!" as the Atlesians thumped the door. Adam Siyah silently nodded and switched the oil lamp off.

Straightening his collar, he composed himself and started walking towards the door. He had it all prepared in his head; he would kindly welcome the sergeant, invite him in for tea or coffee – in the study, the parlor was too close to the cellar – and politely inform him that he had never associated with any Faunus for the past year, and he would gladly inform the Atlesians if he knew their whereabouts.

The sergeant rapped on the door three times again, more forcefully than before. As Andre opened it, he was not prepared for what he saw. The sergeant was there, an absolute brute of a man a full head taller than Andre, flanked by two beady-eyed privates nearly as tall as him. His uniform was decorated by splatters of what Andre _hoped_ was dried mud, and his hand rested on a heavy club dangling from a leather belt. The other was holding a revolver, fully cocked and pointed right at Andre's gut.

"Sir, Uh, I-I-I, Uh…" That would be the most coherent statement Andre would say for the day.

"Mit besten Grüßen, Herr Froussard!" the sergeant jovially replied. "My captain has received reports that you are harbouring traitors and enemies to the Atlesian people in your home. Is this true?"

Andre found himself strainfully nodding.

The sergeant's smile grew predatory and he clicked his tongue. The two privates smoothly slipped past Andre and entered the house, checking every room and occasionally pounding the floors with the butts of their rifles for hidden spaces.

As the soldiers searched his house, he remained out on the front porch, trying and failing to avoid eye contact with the larger man. The brute would sometimes amuse himself by twitching the arm holding the revolver, his beard twitching with silent laughter whenever Andre flinched. Andre became acutely aware that he was sweating like a pig, and shakily blotted a handkerchief across his forehead. He offered it to the sergeant as an awkward attempt at civility, but the man mockingly grinned and shook his head.

Finally, one of the privates yelled something, and three more of his comrades rushed through the gate and into the house. When they emerged a minute later, ten other trudged out alongside them, hands over their heads. Andre tried not to look their way out of shame, but he still caught glances of their faces: Mrs. Siyah was choking back tears, while Adam stared at him with a hatred that no words could describe. Last out came Anwar Abyad, with a slight frown and eyes full of the pity. For whom, Andre couldn't tell.

As the ten Faunus were led out of the gate, the sergeant closed it and said, "The fatherland thanks you for your cooperation, Herr Froussard!" He mounted his horse and rode off with a chuckle, and the street was as deserted as it was five minutes ago.

Andre stumbled back into the house, silently closing the door behind him. The house was untouched – the worst the Atlesians had done was kick up the edge of a rug and scuff the floor by the door – but it felt like a tornado had just swept through. Nervously, Andre stepped his way toward the closet where they were only two minutes ago. It still felt inhabited: the gas lamp was still warm, plates from an early dinner were stacked in a corner, and the air lingered with the scent of Mrs. Siyah's perfume. But its inhabitants were never coming back, and they were as good as dead.

As he turned to leave, Andre noticed a small bag in the far corner that was untouched, it was filled with Anwar Abyad's stash of gold lien. Inside was a note hastily written. _"Andre take these, for we cannot use them where we are going. Thank you."_

The sound of Andre's silent tears filled the room.


End file.
